


Small Moments

by alafaye



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-30
Updated: 2013-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 02:04:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1064405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alafaye/pseuds/alafaye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holmes calls on Watson for a case on the continent, but in the end, it isn't actually about the case at all. Not that either of them knew that until after the case was closed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Small Moments

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2013 fest for and originally posted [here](http://acd-holmesfest.livejournal.com/22142.html).

Mrs. Hudson clucked her tongue as she entered the sitting room, a pile of mail in hand. "These keep coming and I'm not sure what to do with them." She looked at me. "Should we open them?"

I had considered it, last week, when the mail had begun piling up. Holmes was something of a celebrity and people requesting his assistance--no matter how small or trivial the matter--called or wrote daily. Normally it would not be a problem, but Holmes had gone to the continent for a case. So even though the mail continued to come in, Holmes was not home to receive it.

Personally, I did not like the idea of anyone but the receipient opening letters addressed to them; business or otherwise. It was not just rude, but in poor morale. If Holmes had a wife..but he wouldn't and no matter how we conducted ourselves privately, I was not in the position to open his mail.

Mrs. Hudson took my silence as she would have Holmes'--dismissal or (more often) as being ignored. She put the new letters below the others, chronological order. Holmes would likely dispose of all of them in the fire when he returned home, but should he be interested, he would prefer them to be in chronological order I believed. Though to be honest, I'm not quite sure. Perhaps she and I were only reflecting our own preference upon Holmes.

She turned to me with a single letter in hand. "This came for you, though. A request from a patient? It arrived this morning, but I forgot about it when the delivery for coal came by."

I thanked her and felt a smile creep onto my face at the return address. Mrs. Hudson cleared her throat. "If he gives a date of his return, you'll let me know? I would like to be well prepared for it."

By 'well prepared' she actually meant making sure she had on hand a tonic for nerves for herself and her maid. (Holmes' increase in popularity had stretched to our housekeeper in that we now paid her more for our rent and she had gracefully hired a maid to help around the house. Not that it helped much with the chaos Holmes' got up to.) I chuckled, but nodded. "Of course."

She made a murmur of appreciation and asked if I would be in for dinner before excusing herself to attend to something in the kitchen. I set aside the medical periodical I had been reading and retired to my rooms. Holmes and I were very discreet, making no indication of our private relationship, but it _had_ been a week and though Holmes was not a romantic, I believed that this letter could contain some rather interesting words that could be used in a court case. In fact, I highly suspected it would--I had several letters of the same kind from previous years when we were apart. I knew it was damning for me to keep them, but I was the romantic of us two and I could not find it within myself to destroy the letters.

_My dear Watson,_

_I am not quite sure if I told you about this case, but I find I might have need of your usual services. Could you come as soon as you can (take the 8.30 train to the port rather than the 7.30) and meet me in Versaille? And please bring me the book on the household of Marie Antoinette._

_Holmes_

_P.S. I miss you, old boy. Do not think for one moment that I only require an extra hand for this case. I do, but I find my moods to be quite sunk without you near._

I chuckled at the last line and folded the letter up. No matter how much Holmes despised romanticism and sentiment, he was unable to stop his words when we had been apart. I set the letter into the box with the others with a small smile and called for Mrs. Hudson to fetch an errand boy so I could procure the travel tickets I needed while I packed.

~~~

I did not make for easy company on the road. I was nervous and excited--not only for reuniting with Holmes, but also for the case. There was something in us both that called for the thrill. No matter that I could not understand fully Holmes' black moods without cases, I did feel cheated when they were boring and humdrum. Much as tales of cheating husbands and secretive servants paid for our everyday debts, we could both of us do without them for all the good they did our moods. No, we both thrived on the cases where we chased shadows in mists and discovered family secrets that hid murder.

I am well aware that it does mean much for our health and well-being that we preferred such cases. A person is best when given a quiet domicile and routine. But I do reflect, from time to time, much as I loved Mary and our life together, a part of me was lost and depressed and bled into the rest of me in the time without Holmes and his cases. Mary and our servants would reflect upon it now and again, that I was at times melancholy and in need of cheering up. I do wonder at times if I ever did Mary wrong, acting this way. That I should have recognized in myself something amiss that I needed the action and adventure so as to not upset her own health in such a way.

No matter. What done was done and I would do myself a worse injury by reflecting badly and wishing otherwise. I am what I am, I cannot deny that. I am in hale health (for one my age if I do say so myself) and am not the person that Holmes and I chase after to bring to justice. That much I am certain of and cannot help but be grateful for. More, I do have a nice home with a man I love and who loves me and no matter how we spend our time, we are happy.

These thoughts and the excitement of an interesting case, as I said, made me not the best company to be had. I kept clear of my fellow travellers for this reason. Normally, I would have been more sociable and welcoming. Often it was to disguise the fact that Holmes was recalcitrant and moody; making up for his bad manners as it were. But I found myself unable to calm and focus. I read the book Holmes had requested, wondering what we would need from it.

It had to do with the early days of the Parisian Republic, the dark and bloody days of revolution. The book itself was written by an embittered soul and I sensed the author had been somehow denied something from the royal family. The heady and decadent household kept was laid out in embarrassing detail, from who was sleeping with whom to suspicions of immoral acts. I wondered if it were all true--I had read of the aristocracy and the royal family when I was in school and knew that it had been corrupt. And yet I could not stop myself, even in school, from thinking that some of it had to be exaggerated. No matter their moral decay, I doubted that anyone could be so and have no one do something sooner.

Given the nature of the book, I was intrigued by the case. I did wonder how it involved Holmes, but no matter. I would find out soon enough.

Holmes. It was yet another reason I was not good company on this trip. I could not stop my body's reactions when I thought of him. We have been apart before, even after our relationship changed into something fonder and warmer, but I found it difficult to be without him. (For one particular reason though. I did not voice it for fear of it being heard by others.) And being without him, I thought of him often. My lips would smile in remembrance and my member would harden. 

No, best to avoid others in order to avoid the embarrassment.

A boat and two train trips later, I saw Holmes.

He looked well--underfed as usual, but happy and taken care of. He greeted me warmly, taking me by the hand, and I felt both our spirits lift at the reunion.

"I've added a room to my holding at a nearby hotel," Holmes told me as we left the station. "We'll get you settled in, but I do need that book. You did bring it?"

I nodded, at a loss of words sadly, but sliding easily into my role as his second. Reunited we might be, there was a case on and I needed to focus. Holmes looked around us in a flash of an eye before dropping his tone. "And your revolver?"

I raised my eyebrow. A case where I had little details always created the urge that I would need it, but there were few times when Holmes had asked for it. "Of course. I was unsure...but we need it?"

Holmes cleared his throat. "That remains to be seen. But let me tell you about the case as I know it."

The case, told in the time we walked to the hotel, was both intriguing and worrying. Government officials in Paris had been receiving letters threatening the demolishment of the current parliament and a return of the Dauphin. The letters included hints that a bastard had been sired in the days before the revolution and thus, the royal line continued. A bastard would have gone unnoticed in those dark days, especially if the king had kept it secret. It did explain why Holmes needed the book, but would the book be the best source?

Holmes smiled at my question. "I merely wished to check the author's name and if he mentioned anyone other than the royal family."

"I read it on the road here and I did not find anything," I told him.

Holmes only raised an eyebrow at me and I let it go. He could see what others didn't so he might be onto something. After I cleaned up in the hotel and eaten something, Holmes drew us out into the night time streets and we followed them to the old palace. It looked old and sad and haunted. I shuddered looking up at it.

"Indeed," Holmes muttered as if he had read my thoughts. "If the bastard was sired, it would have been here, yes?"

I shrugged. "Perhaps."

Holmes wrinkled his nose and turned away from the palace. Again moving through the streets, but now into a rundown part of the city. I kept my hat low and my eyes even lower. I kept an eye on Holmes' feet rather than our surroundings, but kept an ear open. Holmes knew the area better than I and I was better suited to keeping my wits in case we should be attacked. Holmes' manner regarding my revolver had upset me and I was glad that I had heeded his summons.

~~~

Far into the winding streets of the city, we stopped at a towering, decrepit building that looked more like apartment dwellings rather than a family home. Holmes studied the building, hiding the shadows with me. "The grandson of the gentleman who wrote our book lives here. I've been to this apartment only twice and been in just once."

I frowned, puzzled. What little I had was contradictory. "You believe this man is the blackmailer?"

Holmes hummed thoughtfully. "I found an unusual stack of correspondence hidden within the stacks while I traced this family line. Correspondence written to a few key people who both began and led the rebellion. I am sure you read resentment in the book?"

I nodded and Holmes continued. "These letters hint that the author knew of something that would completely expose and hinder the royal family, but his knowledge was dismissed and the resentment in the book is also within those letters."

Maybe my suspicions had been right, that the author had been denied something by the royal family. "Family revenge?"

Holmes clucked his tongue. "Romanticism."

I turned from him in time to watch a cloaked figure knock on the door. Holmes nodded to himself. "As I thought. Come. Our job is done here. I must return to the hotel to write some letters and we'll be off back home."

That was it? I tried to not let my disappointment show, but I could tell from the way Holmes watched me from the corner of his eye that he had caught it. He surreptitiously squeezed my elbow in some show of comfort with a soft smile that revealed he felt the same. At the hotel, he followed me into my room. 

"I don't quite understand," I muttered as we both settled into for an evening drink. "What has happened here?"

Holmes raised his eyebrows. "Surely that is clear as day?"

I shook my head, exasperated, and Holmes sighed. "I am unclear what happened between the author and the royal family. What I do know is that something went foul between the author and the rebellion. And I know further that there are rumours of a bastard that have haunted the Republic since it's early days. Whispers in the street and in the books of families have led me to a young man who could very likely be an heir to the throne."

I sat back. "But if the author was denied something from the royal family, why would his family help a potential heir?"

Holmes shrugged. "More promises that may or may not be fulfilled? I don't know and it is not my place to inquire. I was only brought here to investigate the blackmailer. I know who it is and likely that an heir is possible. What they do with this from here is not my place to know. I've only got to write letters to my employers and one to my brother so he made aware that Parisian politics might be difficult in the next year."

And then home, back to our rooms on Baker Street. Holmes set aside his glass and leaned forward. With his hand touching mine, he smiled. "I wish I had brought you here for something more interesting--and I won't be the one to say it won't be as the blackmailers still have plenty of time to come after me for what I might know--but it was not to be."

I turned my hand over and encircled his wrist with my fingers. "It's no matter. I believe this trip was worth it. Our rooms were...quiet without you."

"Our rooms?" Holmes whispered. "Or our bed?"

I flushed, embarrassed and excited. Holmes smiled and tugged on my hand. "There are no staff awake at this hour save the desk clerk and we are far from the desk. I haven't properly said hello yet."

It was certainly not what I had expected when Holmes had sent the telegram, but I gladly went with him to the bed. I should have protested as we were in a foreign country and the trouble we could be in if discovered was greater and yet my body longed for him. I could not have denied either of us.

I resolved later that night that neither of us would travel alone again for such a length of time. It was the only conclusion in this case that really mattered to me. One that I could never write about, but I would hold this story dear to my heart, letting only Holmes read it. He would scoff and shake his head at my romanticism, but he would be pleased.


End file.
